It’s like trendy baseball, awful with conspicuous, shameless synthetic components and low cost con jobs.
It’s now virtually an obligation to face at first and sign your dugout for group approval — a shallow ritual — after hitting a checked-swing bloop single.
However diminished requirements have develop into standardized. Even the pure act of laughter has been compromised to a con.
If I let you know, one-on-one, a joke, and your response to the punch line is to stare at me whereas emitting a loud, sustained, “Woo!” reasonably than laughter, I’d suppose there was one thing fallacious with you and that I’d wasted my time.
